The Phantom's Angel
by DarkSp'rit
Summary: When Erik, despairing and heartbroken, is offered another chance to win Christine's love by a true angel, he accepts the offer eagerly - at least, until he realises just what the angel's price for this service truly entails...E/C, Musical-based
1. Another Chance

**A/N: Warning: this chapter is random. Like, more random than my usual self.**

**Basic Summary:**

**After Christine leaves with Raoul, Erik is presented with a proposition by a woman who calls herself the angel Ariel (Uriel in some places) - she'll give him another chance to try win Christine...but for a price.**

* * *

**Chapter 1 - Another Chance**

He watched the boat leave, tears running unheeded down his mangled face. Only after it was long out of sight did he turn away from the lake, falling to his knees.

"You alone could make my song take flight…" he whispered, in a bittersweet twist on the words he had sung the night she had unmasked him.

"_It's over now, the music of the night!"_

"Is the melodrama over yet?"

He stiffened at the unfamiliar voice, eyes widening in shock.

"I mean, I don't have anything _against _melodrama – it's an important part of life in general, but _honestly_…"

Lifting his head, his gaze fell upon a stranger – a woman – in an ankle-length black dress pacing with a black (umbrella!?) in hand. She looked down at him, and her pale face lit up in a smile of delight.

"Oh, splendid, you're awake!" A frown appeared suddenly on the stranger's unlined brow. "Well, not really awake, you were awake before, but in terms of paying attention to _me_, you weren't awake – which means I should have just proclaimed you to be paying attention to me, but then that would be _so _undramatic…!" She trailed off into incoherency, and he took the initiative.

"Who the hell are _you?" _

She pursed her lips, and glared at him.

"Excusez-_moi_, have you ever heard of _civility_?"

He frowned at the foreign-sounding word – English, it sounded.

"No?"

"Oh." She was momentarily deflated, but shrugged her shoulders in a clear dismissal of the issue.

"Anyway, what _were _we discussing…? You really mustn't distract me in such a manner, Erik…"

His face whitened.

"So…what were we talking about…I commented on melodrama, and then something happened…I know _something _happened, I merely am unable to recall exactly _what _happened…"

"You know my name…" he interrupted, fists clenched, and she stopped speaking, looking at him in surprise.

"Of _course _I do, I'm me, after all!"

Erik gritted his teeth, annoyance and confused anger coursing through his veins.

"_Who…are…you…and…what…are…you…doing…in…my_…home_!?!_" His words, escalating in volume, ended in a hoarse shout. A frown of confusion crossed her features.

"I actually can't remember what I'm meant to be doing here…oh," she suddenly exclaimed, regarding the dim cavern in mild interest, "so _this _is where you live? I must say, it's not very welcoming…ever considered renovating?"

His movement was faster than ever, driven by an insane anger. In an instant he was in front of her, his hand outstretched – ready to wrap his fingers around her pale, slender throat and throttle the life out of the infuriating intruder…

His hand grasped empty air.

"How unsocial of you," commented the woman from behind him, and Erik whirled, eyes wide in astonishment.

"You aren't human," he realised, and she smiled.

"Correct."

"Then…"

"Then…?" she prompted, the amusement suddenly – inexplicably – draining from her expression. Stooping down, she sat gracefully, the umbrella placed delicately at her side.

"I suppose you could call me…an angel."

He frowned.

"There are female angels?" he asked sceptically, and she nodded.

"I know – shocking, isn't it? The idea of a female in a position of some power…mind-boggling, really…"

Seeing his doubting expression, she added, "I'm not asking you to believe _in _me, Erik – I'm just asking you to understand that I exist."

"Why should I believe you?" he asked, and she laughed.

"Fair enough – very well…" She stood, shaking open the umbrella.

"Something simple, but impressive…" A ball of what seemed to be fire appeared on the umbrella's sharp point.

"You don't mind if I blow a hole in this travesty of a home, do you?" Without waiting for a response, she pointed the umbrella at the organ.

"_No!" _he shouted, starting at the female.

_Too late._

When the smoke cleared, he gazed with horror on the ruins of the organ. Body rigid with barely-controlled anger, he rounded on the woman.

"How _dare_-" the sentence was left unfinished, as Erik's emerald eyes witnessed with amazement the shattered organ slowly being rebuilt by invisible hands.

"Satisfied?"

He nodded, watching the moving pieces in fascination for a while, before fixing his gaze upon her once more.

"_Which _angel are you?"

"Guess." Her voice held amusement. He glared at her for a while, before realising she was not going to give in – and something in her eye hinted at what might happen if he attempted to attack her again.

He exhaled in annoyance.

"The Angel of Music?" he asked – if there _was _such a being, that one would most likely be one of the few not averse to aiding him.

"Isfrael? Most _certainly _not!" she laughed. "Nor would I _want _to be him – he's always talking about cadences, and chords, and other boring things – oh, and don't glare at me like that," she added as she saw his expression, "I justify my words with the fact that I have almost as much musical talent as a peanut. _Almost_."

One thing he had noticed with this woman was that he could never determine what small part of her speech was actually sane.

"Keep guessing," she said, prompting a weary sigh from him.

"The Angel of Death?"

She shook her head.

"I don't like Azrael – too morbid for my tastes. I mean, all he talks about is death, work, and…death. And he's overly fond of black."

Erik was too stunned by the "angel's" words to comment on her outfit (a black dress, black shoes, black umbrella, black necklace. And black hair-ribbon.)

Look," it was her turn to sigh, "Just call me…Ariel."

_Ariel…_

_The spirit of retribution…or angel of healing. _

"Why are you here?" he warily asked again, maintaining a safe distance between himself and the angel.

She didn't answer.

"_Why are you here?"_

"Use my name," she advised, sitting back down and examining with apparent interest the handle of her umbrella.

"Why are you here…_Ariel_?" he grated, and, seemingly satisfied, she replied.

"To…offer…you something."

He tilted his head to one side questioningly.

"Offer?"

There was silence for a long moment, but just before he was about to reiterate his question, she spoke.

"How would you like to do it all again?"

_What?_

"Oh, for my sake, don't look so stupidly confused," Ariel said impatiently. "Let me repeat that. How would you like to start everything over again – to meet Christine again, to fall in love again – and this time, to actually do it properly!"

He sank to his knees, staring unseeingly ahead.

"You mean…"

"…That you would have another chance, yes."

Turning his head, Erik looked straight into the maybe-angel's hazel orbs.

"Why?" he asked bluntly, and Ariel shrugged.

"I've – the angels, really, have held an interest in your…case…for a while now," she said vaguely.

"Oh, but I do need to warn you," She added, breaking into his thoughts, "This will not come cheap. No, not at all…"

He raised an eyebrow as he walked towards his drawer of masks. He felt that he needed the security and peace of mind that wearing them offered – especially if he was to remain civil around this girl.

"Angels have need of money?" Erik asked contemptuously, fastening the mask carefully. Turning back to where she was seated, he noticed her rolling her eyes.

"_Angels _have as much need of money as trees do," she informed him dismissively. "No, the price I'll be demanding from _you_, Monsieur Erik…"

She stopped speaking for a moment.

"The price, Erik…is your deformity."

* * *

Erik stared at her, speechless, green eyes wide in disbelieving wonder.

One hand went up to his face, hesitantly, the backs of his fingers running along the smooth porcelain of the white mask.

"My…deformity?" he asked hesitantly. "This face, this…_thing_…is the price?

She nodded.

"And of course, this time you would have to win Christine – or there would be another price to pay, but yes – your face is the price I'm demanding."

She did not smile – not even when he started to laugh, confused but joyful.

Exhaling, Ariel pushed herself to her feet.

"Why on earth are you so happy?" she asked curiously, and he stared at her in shock.

"Is that a joke?"

"Of course not." She rolled her eyes. "My jokes aren't quite _that _bad."

Her eyes captured his, searching.

"Hmm…I don't believe you quite understand the connotations of the price…"

"Connotations?" he asked in confusion. "This face has been the bane of my life, Mademoiselle; it shaped my existence as a _monster_. If it had not existed…"

"You just hit the nail on the head," Ariel interrupted. "If it had not existed. There would have been no masquerading as the Angel of Music and causing Isfrael to sulk. Most likely, there would have been no Phantom of the Opera."

The angel sighed at his puzzled expression, realising he still didn't understand.

"What first drew you to Christine, Erik? What caught your attention; set her apart from the other girls? What was it?"

The dawning comprehension was followed almost instantaneously by a look of absolute horror and anguish. Ariel nodded grimly.

"If you do it all again – if you live again, you might never hear Christine sing. If you never hear her sing, you'll never fall in love with her. If you never fall in love with her, you'll lose – obviously. And if you lose..."

"Why do you care?" he interrupted, but she merely smiled.

"Today, you had your heart broken. If you lose, you'll have your heart – and soul – and probably body as well, time has this odd way of evening things out – you'll have them shattered."

Crossing her legs, she gazed up at him, directly into his emerald orbs.

"So, Erik, do you accept?"

He didn't reply for a moment, sifting through the rush of knowledge she had imparted to him.

"So…" he said slowly, "you are asking me to risk complete destruction on the fact that I _may _meet her again, and _may _fall in love with her-"

"You _will _form at least some sort of attachment with her as soon as you hear her sing," the angel clarified. "It's complicated, but it will happen."

"Very well," he accepted, "I _may _meet her again, but she could easily not fall in love with me – yes?"

Ariel shook her head.

"She loves you even now, you know," the woman said gently, raking her fingers absent-mindedly through her dark hair. He frowned.

"Then couldn't I…?"

"No, you couldn't," she cut him off firmly. "Today was the day of Christine Daaé's decision – there's no way she could ever change it. You have no chance in this reality anymore."

He bit his lip.

"My point is," she continued, "that Christine will most probably love you – but to win the game, she has to _choose _you."

"Most probably?" he asked anxiously, and Ariel rolled her eyes.

"If, as soon as you laid eyes on her, you dragged her off to a church to marry, she probably _wouldn't _be feeling any sort of affectionate feeling for you, would she?"

"Oh," she added as he considered her words, "one more thing. Because you won't have any memory of who you are - obviously - the only thing stopping you from leaving the country and never meeting her, or walking away even after meeting her, will be what you could call a compulsion. If you resist that compulsion, you lose. And you'll live every day with a feeling of regret that will haunt you from the minute you wake till the minute the overdose of alcohol that you would have drunk to rid yourself of the feeling would knock you into unconsciousness."

She stopped for a moment to catch her breath.

"So," Ariel asked once more, "do you accept?"

He felt like laughing.

He'd just been presented with a path that was bad - and one that was worse.

_But sometimes...the hardest, least desirable road...is the one which is right._

_If that fop of a Vicomte wins again_, Erik thought grimly, _I really_ will _strangle him...!_

_

* * *

_

**A/N: Clarification of the random references/possibly unclear things stated:**

**Isfrael: One of the 4 Islamic Arkangels, associated with Raphael.**

**Azrael: The Islamic Arkangel of Death.**

**Ariel: Closely associated with Uriel**

**When Erik doesn't understand Ariel's "civility", its because she says the word in English - while Erik has learnt English, he doesnt't know a large amount.**

**So, how was it?? Too random? A bad idea?**

**Please review - I need to know whether I should continue!!**

**Thanks for reading,**

**DarkSp'rit**


	2. Reborn

**Hi!**

**So, I've decided to actually update the random story. This thing is fun to write...**

**Please review! Reviews delude me into believing that there's a point to my randomness...and they're nice, too.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 2**

"How exactly are you going to do it?" Erik asked curiously. The angel shrugged.

"You don't want to know," she replied distractedly, concentrating on a curious device which she had (somehow) extracted from within her umbrella.

He frowned.

"But I _want _to know!" Even to himself, he sounded like a petulant child.

"Oh." Ariel raised her head to look at him, surprise evident in her features.

"What?"

She blinked. "You actually want to _know_?"

Her question annoyed him. Hadn't he just said that?

"Obviously…?"

"But that's impossible!" she exclaimed. "_No _one _actually _wants to know – they just ask for the sake of it! There must be something _wrong _with you!"

"You-" he began angrily, but was cut off as she sighed in satisfaction.

"Done," she said triumphantly, holding up the black, spherical device.

"Alright, Erik – it's time."

He hadn't thought that he would feel any sort of nervousness, but his stomach suddenly knotted in apprehension.

_I have no idea how this will work_, he thought. What if something went wrong?

"You don't trust me."

Glancing at Ariel, he realised that she was regarding him intently, hazel eyes steady.

He nodded his head slightly, in affirmation of her statement.

"Should I?"

She laughed, and the tension dissipated.

"Now, going back to what is going to happen," she continued, "essentially, you are going to be healed at birth – your deformity, that is. I'll explain the rest later – I'm too sleepy right now to go into details."

_Angels _sleep_?!_

Something else she'd said, though, caught his attention.

"Later?"

She made a vague gesture.

"Not important."

He began to protest, but she raised a hand for silence.

"Though…" she added, a secretive smile turning up the corners of her mouth, "Let me just say that I'd advise you to get some sleep on your…18th birthday."

"Wha-" he began, as she raised the device above her head.

"Activate," she said calmly.

They vanished from the now-empty cavern.

_Silence, finally?_

A man suddenly appeared.

_No…_

Tall and graceful, long hair the same colour as his snow-white wings, his normally benevolent face was marred by grimness.

"She's gone…" he whispered angrily, the white material of his robe shifting as he paced.

"She's gone!"

* * *

_Amid the agony, she hears the midwife shouting, "Get ready to take the baby!" Her legs thrash uncontrollably in the pain, sweat pouring down her face…_

_And then, suddenly, its all over._

_Wearily, she tries to sit up; but is held down firmly._

"_There'll be none of that, ma'am," said the midwife gently._

"_May I…" she gasps, "…see my baby?"_

_Instead of answering, the woman turns her head. The new mother takes the time to breathe deeply. She's already starting to feel better._

"_Bring the child, girl!"_

"_One moment, ma'am!" the voice of the midwife's assistant returns, and she barely restrains herself from a weary growl of annoyance._

_

* * *

_

_The new midwife's assistant – for the old one disappeared but a week before this birth – stands just outside the door, gazing with clinical fascination upon the horrible, barely-formed features of the baby._

"_Oh dear…" she murmurs, "you most certainly aren't the _prettiest _baby I've seen…" She blinks._

"_That was probably the worst understatement I've ever said," she decides, looking thoughtfully at the surrounding._

"_Anyway…"_

_Shaking herself from her thoughts, she is about to touch her fingers gently to the baby's face, when a vision fills her mind._

"She's gone," he whispers, pacing angrily.

"_He found me," she exclaims in delight. "Which means, though, that he should be coming _here_, right about…"_

_A flash of power alerts her._

"_Now."_

_She smiles._

"New girl! What in gods name are you doing with that baby!?_"_

"_Oops…" she realises, glancing down once more at the child._

"_Are you ready…_Erik_?" she asks softly. His affirmation – from both 10 minutes ago, and nearly 50 years later – echoes once more in her ears, and she smiles._

"_Very well."_

_Her finger lightly touches the baby's face._

And with that one touch, history unravels.

* * *

_She re-enters the house, passing the baby to the midwife._

"_Sorry, ma'am!" she exclaims. The midwife examines her expression clearly, but sincerity is written all over it._

"_Alright, well, I suppose you can go now, then…wait," the midwife pauses, "what's your name again?"_

_The girl, who has already reached the doorway, turns with a smile._

"_It's Ariel."_

_

* * *

_

She walked into the woods, long, dark brunette hair fluttering as she pulled out the ribbon.

He was waiting. Surprisingly, he had taken human form – using the guise of a tall, angularly-featured man, with cropped russet-brown hair and (always piercing, she noted with amusement) blue eyes.

"Michael," she greeted the man smilingly, as she walked to stand before him. His grim expression did not change.

"_What _did you just do?" he barked angrily, and she laughed, sitting down and lying back on the rich green grass, arms stretched out behind her.

"I'm simply evening out the playing field, dear." The ark-angel's face darkened with fury, and he walked to stand over her menacingly.

"Evening out the playing field? You changed _reality_!"

The woman shrugged.

"All good fun, old friend."

He spluttered incoherently for a moment as she watched with amusement.

"Calm down, Michael," she finally said, slightly alarmed, "you're going to have a fit!"

He glared at her again.

"I'm an angel, girl – angels don't have fits."

Despite himself, though, his expression softened, and he sat down carefully next to her.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, with a certain amount of curiosity, and she shrugged again.

"He would go to hell, if I hadn't done this, wouldn't he?" she asked/stated.

Michael grimaced – the issue was a sensitive one.

"Look, we've already had this argument before – and his past _cannot _justify…" He was silenced by her laugh.

"That wasn't my point, Michael," she smiled at him, "but what if he _didn't _have that past? Then what?"

He frowned, but stayed silent, sensing she wanted to continue speaking.

"I'm merely giving him another chance at…well redemption, if you like," she clarified.

Examining her carefully, he was suddenly struck by a terrible fear…

"Are you…" he asked cautiously, looking down at the grass, "are you in _love _with him?"

_Silence._

…

_Still silence…_

He finally looked up, to see her expression.

"L-"

She burst out laughing.

_Me? _In love with _him? _The dreaded _Phantom of the Opera_?"

She laughed harder.

"Definitely not – oh, where would _anyone _get such an _absurd _idea?! Like, the mask's bearable – every man needs a hobby – but the temper? The loud, banging organ? The cave? And the _lasso_? Oh dear…"

She wiped away the tears of laughter which had sprung to her eyes.

"Plus," she added slightly more coherently, "while I don't have anything against humans, there are disadvantages of dating a mortal. Anyway, the closest he ever got to being even a _fake _angel was his voice!"

Michael frowned, reluctantly side-tracked by her joking.

"You do realise that voice is, without doubt, much better than _any _angel's," he pointed out.

"Exactly."

Despite himself, he laughed; though he sobered quickly.

"So…"

"What happens now?" she finished.

He sighed.

"God is lenient – he's willing to forgive this – but as for the rest of us," he told her, "we can't allow this transgression to go unpunished."

She smiled coldly.

"Then," she murmured, "best of luck, ark-angel."

Suddenly, she stood.

"Where are you going?" he asked her – but she didn't seem to hear him.

"Are you…?" he began.

She looked down at him, and smiled sadly.

"The only female ever to be put into the role of ark-angel is me…" she said reflectively, and Michael nodded.

"It was in the nature of an experiment."

She sighed.

"I know," she whispered.

The leaves rustled as she began to walk away.

"One more thing," he called out from behind her, and she turned.

"Yes?"

His expression was grim once more.

"It is clear now that that experiment failed."

Her face twisted under the control of indescribable emotion, and for a moment he regretted his words.

The features smoothed out again into a serene mask, and she smiled a sweet (fake) smile.

"Oh well – at least I'm stronger."

She walked away, and he watched in despair.

* * *

_Madeleine holds her baby tight, examining with deep love the beautiful, unmarred features of his face._

"_What will you name him?" asks the priest, and she turns to him, joy wiping away her weariness._

"_I don't know…" she hasn't actually considered a name before this._

_The priest raises an eyebrow._

"_He needs a name, Madeleine."_

_Shrugging helplessly, she is suddenly struck by inspiration. _Like a voice from heaven_, she thinks happily._

"_May I name him after you?" she asks the man eagerly. Confused, he nods._

"_She looks back at her baby._

"_Erik," she says lovingly. "Your name will be _Erik_."_

_

* * *

_

The boy was intelligent, undoubtedly – musically talented beyond all words, and a genius. Till he was old enough to speak (not very long), however, Erik's thoughts were occupied mainly by one name – and not his own.

_Christine…_

When he spoke his first word, the name vanished from his mind.

But only his active mind.

It sunk deep into his subconscious, preparing for the day when once again it would be the driving force of his life.

And through all of this, the angel who called herself Ariel watched patiently.

_Waiting…_

* * *

_So?_

_Sorry half was in first person/italics - none of the rest will be._

**Review, please, and I hope you enjoyed it!**

**DarkSp'rit**


	3. Angels

**Hi!**

**Um, just a comment on this chapter; the first half has no Erik; its more an exploration of what/who Ariel is, and WHY she's doing this. The second half is set 7 years after Erik's birth. And has Erik in it (obviously).**

**A reminder again, that this IS an E/C story, and NOT an E/OC story. However, Christine's not in this chapter. **

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter!  
**

* * *

**Chapter 3 - Angels**

**_The Cathedral of the Archangels, 3 days after Erik's birth_**

"This is an outrage!" thundered a voice. Sighing, Michael turned.

"Hello, Raphael," Michael said politely.

"What do you mean _hello_, you useless fool?! Every time I see your miserable face it means that you've bungled yet _another _easy assignment!"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Raphael!" Gabriel – who was lounging in his designated chair – said mildly, "don't you think that it's time for you to be silent now?"

"So what happened?" the Archangel of Water asked Michael, ignoring the spluttering Raphael. "Is it bad?"

Michael shrugged.

"Oh, the average world-could-unravel-into-a-chaotic-disorder-of-time-and-space problem."

"One of those? How boring…" Gabriel sighed.

"Um…but isn't that a bad thing, Master Michael?" Surprised, Michael looked at the direction from which the soft, timid voice had emerged.

"Oh, Sariel – it's been a while," Michael addressed the newest ark-angel, who – predictably – blushed.

"Don't worry, Sariel," said Gabriel, "the world's been on the brink of collapse so many times it's a wonder we even bother doing anything about it."

"Actually," Michael interjected, "this problem's slightly more worrying."

There was a pause.

"Why?"

Michael sighed.

"Because it's time-related."

There was another pause, which resounded with silent surprise and shock.

"Oh no…" groaned Gabriel, sagging back into his chair.

"This is all your fault, Michael, you and your goddamned female friend," Raphael growled. "What the hell possessed the Lord to make bloody female angels-"

"My, my, Raphael," a calm, cool voice reproached, "are you so far gone that you would question our Creator's will?"

As all 3 (well 4, really, counting Sariel) turned towards the newest entrant of the large, dome-shaped Hall of the Archangels, Uriel smiled slightly at Raphael.

"You may be seated," he added mildly, as he sat at the head of the table.

"Not like we were waiting for you, anyway," Raphael grumbled as he sank into the seat next to Michael.

"Now," Uriel began, "a problem seems to have occurred. Michael, I believe you were explaining when I arrived…?"

Michael nodded, resting his hands on the table before him.

"I've just managed to find out what she did" – no questions as to who _she _was – "and it's…not good."

"She split-streamed time."

As seemed to be the new habit, there was a pause when he stopped speaking.

"Split-streamed?" Uriel finally asked. Michael's eyes widened in shock.

"Please tell me you know what that is…" All the angels around the table shook their heads. Slowly, Michael released the breath he was holding, refusing to let what he had been about to say out of his mouth.

"You see, Michael," Gabriel said, having the grace to at least look slightly sheepish, "the two of you seemed to really enjoy handling all that sort of thing; so we left it to you."

Michael shrugged.

"I can't explain it properly; it was her theory, after all."

"Then it seems…" Uriel murmured, "That we will have to ask the lady ourselves. If the Lady would be so kind as to step forward?" he asked, not turning around in his seat as a woman stepped away from the shadows and walked confidently into the room.

* * *

Michael's eyes widened. _ No wings at her back; she's taken _human form _even here?!_

"Hello, everyone!" she said cheerfully. "It's certainly been a while! Oh…" she added as an afterthought, "except for you, Michael, since I saw you yesterday."

"What is this, Michael – fraternisation with the enemy?" Raphael accused. The dark-haired woman rolled her eyes.

"Oh _please_, why do you have to be horrible to everyone, Raphael? If you really, really, _really _– fascinating, I'm starting to forget the meaning of the word "really" – anyway, if you want to know that much, he was telling me how annoying it would be for him to have to kill me."

Uriel attempted to interject with a question, but gave up in the face of the new-comer's speech.

"As for me being a "female friend" – I think you got it right just then, really; I was sleeping with him; not that hard to say it." She looked around, confused, at the averted, flushing faces of the archangels.

"What? Did I say something?"

"While this conversation is _fascinating_, my Lady," Uriel finally managed to say, "We need to ask you some questions."

"Ah!" she exclaimed, "the time slip! Of course; how silly of me. Well basically – speaking metaphorically, of course – I dammed off the river of time, created a side-stream, and so now it's slowly dripping its way through the now-uncarved soil of possibility."

There was silence, as the males tried – unsuccessfully – to process that.

"Could you repeat that again?" Gabriel asked, "and in a way that actually makes sense?"

The girl sighed.

"Let me try something else, then."

She closed her eyes, and thought.

_Time is a river; yet its path is carved into the soils of space; of probability and chance. After the first waters flowed, so many millennia ago, all that we, as angels, have had to do is to ensure that the flow never ceases; thus, we have the ability to "travel through time" – when really, we are merely moving along the river faster than humanity is able to._

_However…what happens if the river's waters are dammed? That is what has been done; the river has been dammed, and with the healing of the boy's face, the waters of time have begun to flow in a different direction, carving a new path through the soil._

_Eventually, perhaps, they will combine with the original river; however, it all now depends on the one that, in another reality, they called the Phantom of the Opera._

She opened her eyes.

"Of course, that was all metaphorically speaking."

Gabriel frowned. "It makes sense – in a bizarre, twisted, deranged way." She smiled, and curtseyed.

"Why, thank you!"

"Wait…" Sariel murmured, and they all – the lady included – looked at the normally-mute archangel in surprise. "So does this mean we can't travel forward anymore?"

She nodded.

"Correct; right now, the furthest part of conceived time is at the point where Monsieur Destler is learning that baby food tastes horrendous."

"The fact remains, however," Raphael said, "that you have committed a crime – for which the punishment is destruction." He rose, and she backed away.

"That's a _really _bad idea, you know," she said nervously. The Fire Archangel raised an eyebrow.

"Why?"

"Because if you kill me," she said quickly, "then the dam collapses, you'll have two alternate realities, and a gap in the middle for the demons to get through."

He continued to walk towards her, but stopped as Uriel gave him a cautionary look.

"She has a point," Michael said thoughtfully.

"Of course I do!" she exclaimed, "I _always _have-"

"Be quiet, girl," Uriel said absentmindedly. "We will wait," he told the other angels, "we will wait until everything has…worked itself out…and then, Lady," he gave her a piercing look, "then you will be accountable for your actions."

She sighed, and, kneeling on the floor, eased herself into a cross-legged position.

"The reason I came here," she replied, "was to express my intention of not allowing you to harm me. I came here, to make a deal with you."

"A deal?"

"If Erik Destler and Christine Daaé do not end up together this time around, then I will submit myself for automatic destruction. _If_, however," she enunciated the "if" carefully, "if they fall in love, then on the day of their marriage, I will expect all of my…" her smile twisted slightly, "misdemeanours"….will be forgotten; and wiped off my record. And I will be free for the remainder of eternity."

Michael gasped; and not just him – from beside him, he heard Raphael's slight intake of breath.

_She will bargain her existence on this…_human_!? _He began to wonder if perhaps after all she really _did _love the Phantom.

Uriel's lips curled slightly in a wry smile.

"Very well."

He raised his hand slightly, silencing the cries of outrage from Raphael and Gabriel.

"This is _my _decision, on behalf of our Lord-"

"Oh, another thing!" she interrupted. "If I win, you will not tell Father. Agreed?" Uriel nodded.

"Good."

As she vanished into shadow, they felt her presence leave. Michael stood, catching one of his feathers just before it hit the ground.

"She was in human form," he commented. There was no reply from the others.

"What happens now…?" he mused to himself.

"We wait." Michael looked at his oldest brother, who was staring off into the distance.

"We wait…" Uriel sighed.

* * *

_**7 years after Erik's birth**_

"I don't quite understand, Mama."

Madeleine winced at the coolness of her son's tone.

"Erik, you were so rude to Monsieur Dupont – I really think its best that you have a new tutor."

He raised an eyebrow.

"I wasn't aware that I was even in _need _of a tutor, Mama."

Madeleine frowned, about to remonstrate with her son, when she heard a knock on the door. Her face brightened.

"Erik, you are to stay here – do you understand?" He nodded, and she walked rapidly – almost running – to open the door.

A short, slender young woman – more girl, really – stood there, nervous expression on her face, and Madeleine's delight faded. The girl curtseyed, the simple elegance of the gesture taking the older woman's breath away.

"I'm sorry, but may I speak to Madame Destler?" the stranger asked, her voice timid yet bell-like.

Madeleine smiled, trying to conceal her disappointment.

"Yes, that is me; and who might you be, dear?" she asked kindly.

The girl smiled.

"I saw your advertisement for a tutor for your son, Madame – I sent a letter some weeks ago, informing you that I would be coming…?"

"_Oh!_" Madeleine gasped. "Come in, please!"

As the stranger nodded gratefully and stepped inside the house, Madeleine examined her dubiously. Short – barely shoulder-length – hair framed her small face, its pale blonde, almost white colouring pleasing against her complexion.

"So, Mademoiselle…?"

The shorter woman gasped.

"I'm sorry!" She curtseyed again. "Rachael Lancaster, at your service, Madame Destler."

"You are not French, Mademoiselle?" The girl shook her head.

"English, Madame – and please, call me Rachael."

Madeleine sighed.

"Mademoi- Rachael, I am sorry but I'm not sure that such a young tutor for my son…"

"Oh, _please_, Madame!" Rachael pleaded, "I _need _a job; I have near to no money, and I have been well-educated, I swear by the Lord's name!"

Watching Rachael beg, almost in tears, Madeleine's heart went out to the unfortunate girl. She released a breath.

"Very well," she said, resigned. _I should at least give her a chance…_Madeleine thought.

Rachael looked up, her face transformed by an expression of pure delight.

"Thank you so much, Madame!" Madeleine smiled weakly.

"It is nothing," she said, leading the new tutor to where her son is.

"Erik is in that room," Madeleine told Rachael, indicating the room. "I need to go to the village, but I will return in two hours."

Rachael's pale brow wrinkled slightly as she frowned.

"But surely the boy will become hungry; it is nearly time for lunch!"

Madeleine shrugged, unconcerned.

"He doesn't eat very much food." The frown remained on Rachael's face.

"Then that will have to change…"

The older woman smiled indulgently at the girl's naivety – it was impossible to _force _a child to eat; especially a child such as Erik was.

"I will leave now," she continued, walking back to the door, "Good luck!"

Rachael smiled slightly, before turning back to the entrance to the room where her new pupil was.

She closed her eyes, and then opened them again.

If Madeleine had been there, she would have been shocked by the change that seemed to ripple through the girl; the passive, mild eyes hardened, and the intelligence that Madeleine had only seen glimpses of transformed them into glowing emeralds. Her stance, so ladylike and meek before, became confident, powerful. Throwing open the door, she strode in, her new pupil looking up in surprise from the floor, where he was sketching the foundations of a cathedral.

"Who are you?" he asked, politely wary. She smiled.

"Me?" she echoed. "How terrible of you, Erik!" she said in mock surprise, "Why, I'm your new tutor."

His eyes widened – _this girl was his _tutor_?!_

"What is your name?" he queried, slight fear in his tone.

She dropped her small bag uncaringly to the floor, and leant against the wall.

"I have many names, Erik," she told him, "but _you _may call me Ariel." She looked closer at his work. "Oh, and you're drawing that wrong."

His eyes narrowed.

"Really?"

She nodded cheerfully.

* * *

**The next chapter's going to be set a bit later than this.**

**And yes, Ariel's become his tutor.**

**And yes, she's using a fake name.**

**And yes, Erik finds out about it.**

**As for the river theory thing; I'll clarify it if you ask me.**

**So should Christine come in next chapter, or the chapter after? And should I drop the whole switching to the angels every now and then and concentrate solely on Erik (and Christine when she comes in) or should I keep the subplot going?**

**Reviews are appreciated, and give me incentive to work on this story (though it is quite fun to do) - so please review!**


	4. Questions, Conspiracy, and Paris

**It's been a while since I've updated this; and not through not wanting to, or lacking inspiration; merely lacking time!**

**Anyway, this chapter is slightly shorter than the previous three, but I hope you enjoy.**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter!**

* * *

**Chapter 4**

Erik was 14 when he finally asked Ariel about her name.

Of course, he'd wanted to for the past 6 years; but somehow, when the question was just about to slip from his lips, she would announce a day trip to some monument, or that they would be starting a new topic – and by the time the issue came up in his mind again, he was enjoying himself too much to ask.

But today, he was determined.

They were in the piano room (as always) and she was examining his translation work as he watched her from the piano stool.

"Ariel…"

She didn't look up as she replied.

"Yes, Erik?"

"I wanted to ask you," he steeled himself – _why do I even need to steel myself to talk to her when I'm _taller _than her? –_ and asked the question, "why do you tell Mama that your name is Rachael?"

Pen poised over the paper, she froze. He watched in confusion as her expression changed.

Finally, she looked up, smiling brightly.

_So _that's _how she's going to be about it_…Erik thought darkly. After 6 years, he had learned the hard way that Ariel's smiles weren't always good things.

"Erik, _dear_," he winced at the gushy endearment, "I think that its time we start another subject. How about…" she thought for a moment, "1st century AD Armenian?"

Erik sighed.

"We've already done that, Ariel. 2 years ago, I think.

"Darn."

"Can't you just answer the-"

"What about Ancient Egyptian?" Ariel interrupted.

"I _asked _you if we could do that 7 years ago. You didn't even want to teach me it, remember?"

"Persian?"

"5th language I learned."

"Advanced biology?"

"I think you gave up after I ended up knowing more about it than you."

"European literature?"

"It was boring."

"Meteorology?"

"I enjoyed it, even though you didn't."

"Development of Christian religious architecture over the last 1800 years?"

"We went on a 2 week trip around France to study all the churches, Ariel."

"_Argh_!" she growled, stomping her foot. The homework slipped off her lap, unnoticed.

"Can't you just answer my question?" Erik asked, trying not to sound hurt at her refusal.

She sighed.

"Fine…what was your question again?"

Though he knew she remembered, he patiently repeated it – patience was another thing that he had picked up in the time he had spent around his temperamental tutor.

"Why do you tell Mama your name is Rachael?"

Ariel stood with a slight sigh, and came to seat herself on the floor next to the stool, and at her unspoken command he slipped from before the piano to sit next to her.

_Something else I should ask her_, Erik thought. _Why does she enjoy the floor so much…?_

"So…" his thought was interrupted as she began to speak.

"Why do I call myself Rachael at one time, and Ariel at another?" He nodded, even though he sensed the question was rhetorical.

"Well…strictly speaking, it's not as if Rachael isn't my name…"

"It is your middle name?" Erik asked. A smile curved her lips slightly; but it was a sad smile, devoid of the humour which so characterised her others.

"It was…given to me. By a friend."

"How can you give someone a _name_?!"

Ariel shrugged.

"Well, it happens. And so, that's why your mother knows me as Rachael. And that's why we are going to Paris today – no, actually," she corrected herself, "that's why we're going to Paris right _now_!"

She grabbed his arm, and with extraordinary strength for someone so small, pulled him out of the room, and out of the house, stopping only to take her small bag that held her wallet. Madeleine didn't bother looking up from the chair where she was sitting; she had already become accustomed to the surprise trips her son's tutor seemed to delight in taking Erik on.

"Try and stay within the country this time, Rachael."

"Yes ma'am – we're going to Paris," the petite blonde told her employer as she dragged Erik out the door.

"Have fun, Erik," his mother called after him, just as the door closed.

* * *

Malevolence watched as the woman-girl helped her younger companion onto a horse, before mounting another with the smooth grace of a practised horse-woman. The demon had not bothered to take human form, remaining in the insubstantial state that he automatically changed to when he came to Earth.

He watched till the horses were out of his immediate eyesight, before turning.

"Sir…" Malevolence whispered, aware that his employer would be able to hear. But there was no response, though he waited for a few long moments.

Finally, impatience overcoming him, he turned to leave – and almost walked straight into the Archangel Raphael.

"Sir!" the demon gasped, stepping backwards. If he had been substantial, he would have tripped on the stick behind him – as it was, Malevolence was barely able to prevent himself from falling through the tree at his back.

"Well?" Raphael asked brusquely, niceties ignored – and Malevolence carefully quashed a feeling of annoyance.

"She's taking him to Paris, Sir," the demon said obsequiously. The winged angel growled, his frustration clear.

"What the hell is that bitch _doing_?!" he snarled. There was a slight intake of breath at his words, and he whirled on the other individual.

"Well, boy?"

The Archangel Sariel bit his lip, averting his eyes. Though Malevolence was hardly into the practice of feeling pity (how primitively _humane_!) he could almost feel sorry for the boy – and boy the angel was, despite his age and immortality.

A boy cowed by the older, stronger bully.

"Am I to follow her to Paris, Sir?" Malevolence finally asked, distracting Raphael's attention from his unfortunate colleague.

"Of course!" Raphael snapped, and trying not to flinch, Malevolence bowed.

Something in his manner must have alerted Raphael, however; as Malevolence was about to leave, his arm was grasped roughly.

"Yes, Sir?" Malevolence asked with surprise, trying to suppress the fear he could feel welling up inside him.

"You'd better not betray me, _demon_," Raphael hissed. The demon shook his head vigorously.

"Sir, I want her gone as much as you do."

The archangel looked into Malevolence's eyes for a long moment, before nodding in satisfaction.

"Well, hurry up and go!"

Malevolence bowed again, before vanishing.

As he hovered in un-reality for a few moments, he finally smiled.

_We might be on the same side right now, _archangel_, but what happens when she's gone, hmm?_

* * *

"Ariel, where are we going?"

"A concert, dear," Ariel murmured absent-mindedly, trying to navigate through the crowds while ignoring the appreciative looks being cast her way.

"What sort?" Erik persisted. Ariel sighed, slightly annoyed.

"Violin; there's a famous violinist that I want you to hear perform."

Erik thought about that for a long moment, before looking down – he had reached her height almost two years ago – again.

"What's his name?"

"You mean the violinist?"

Erik nodded.

"Oh..." Ariel stopped walking for a moment, frowning in thought.

"Gustave something...ah yes!"

Patiently, the boy waited.

"Gustave is his name - Gustave Daaé."

* * *

**The last part was an add-in for the people who wanted Christine to start appearing. Of course, owing to the age difference Christine won't even be alive yet; but it sets the scene for some...things.**

**I hope you enjoyed it, and reviews are appreciated - whether its criticism, or comments, or simply you telling me that you enjoyed it - they give me inspiration!**

**Till next update,**

**DarkSp'rit**


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